Revelations
by katie-kapulet
Summary: Castiel reveals everything to Dean, with some surprising results.


"I'm sorry," Cas said, his voice filled with familiar solemnity.

His apology fell on deaf ears. It was amazing to Dean how those two simple words didn't seem to have much meaning anymore, especially coming from him. In all honesty, more than anything, the utterance felt like an insult.

"I was wrong."

Dean scoffed incredulously, rubbing a hand along his jaw-line. "No kidding," he replied sardonically. His gaze didn't meet Castiel's, and yet, Dean could imagine his expression. Heavy, inquisitive, sincere. It was little wonder that Dean had been able to believe in him so easily before. His face was like staring into a child's at times - one that had seen too much in a lifetime - but a child nonetheless. A child was difficult to refuse, and so was Castiel.

Even without looking, Dean could feel the angel's gaze had shifted away from him, for he no longer felt the searing burn of that intense stare, the one that beckoned understanding and faith, faith in its keeper.

Dean didn't know how it was possible for Castiel's tone to become even graver, but apparently in his world, wonders never ceased. Nor did surprises. He had yet to be surprised, but something told him that whatever this was about, it was going to have an endgame, and one he didn't like. Story of his life.

"You're not like others. You're unlike anyone I've - "

The hunter cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, and he glanced at him pointedly. "Spare me, Cas," Dean pleaded, his tone almost vehement. "If you're going to go on about how my clusterfuck of a life isn't like anyone else's, then yeah, I already got that memo, thanks. Just skip over the 'you're special' and 'you have a destiny' bullshit and get to your point already."

A silence stretched between them.

Castiel's face fell for a moment, but when he looked at Dean again, he seemed to understand. Dean didn't know if it was that Castiel understood his plight, or if the angel simply understood that whatever he was about to say was something he had to do. He was inclined to believe it was the latter, simply because experience had taught Dean that there was always something Castiel had to do, or he had to do, or Sam had to do. He should have understood that he and Castiel were not so different, perhaps found comfort in that knowledge. If someone were to roll out their lives on maps, it would have been eerie how similar they were. Yet, Dean was selfish, and sometimes he couldn't see past his own nose. In his mind, only he and his brother Sam existed, and in his mind, no one - not even Castiel - had an experience or a life or a thought or a feeling quite like them. It was easy for Dean to believe they were cursed, maybe even damned, and it was even easier for him to believe that when all was said and done, they were alone. He was alone.

Castiel's even tone cut through the silence. "You're not alone," he said.

Dean shot him a look of warning telling him to get on with it. Out of paranoid habit, then, he spared a glance in the direction of Sam, who was fast asleep on a one of the cheap motel's hard, unforgiving beds. Castiel watched Dean's display of concern for his brother, understanding that it existed even when they were safe. Dean never stopped looking after Sam, just as Castiel never stopped looking after Dean.

"The apocalypse is inevitable..." the angel began, almost hesitantly, turning away.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Dean reproached, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against a counter in the tiny make-shift kitchen area.

"It is," Cas said. "Whether by God or Devil, the common man, or something else entirely, it will happen. It will happen, because it's supposed to happen. The Earth will end the way it began, in fire and ruins. And someday, this will all disappear entirely."

"Please tell me you're not giving me a Sunday school lesson, Cas," Dean chimed in with an impatient sigh.

"No, I'm telling you that no matter what you think or what you do, the end is coming. You can't stop it. Nobody can. Not even God," Cas said, his tone direct. His head bowed slightly, his expression pained. "Not even if God wanted to stop it."

"God can kiss my ass. He can do whatever the hell he wants, because he's God. I'd have thought you of all people should know that by now. He made all this," Dean continued, gesturing a hand around them. "and he can unmake it. Yeah, I fucking got that memo, too. You should tell him - " He shrugged, and looked up a moment, his smile mocking. "that is, if you can find the bastard - that if he didn't want people getting in the way of his plans, then he shouldn't have given us brains and the ability to make our own damn choices. You can tell your God that he better start checking under the bed and inside his closets, 'cause the next knock he gets is gonna be me. And whether or not you and your little pixie friends have realized it yet, not a damn thing you say or do is gonna stop me. If this ship is going down, then I'm sure as Hell gonna take all of you with me."

His declaration took the angel aback. "You would fight me?" Castiel questioned then, frowning.

There was a pause, a hesitance to respond. Cas wanted to look at Dean. If he had, he would have seen how the hunter struggled with himself in that moment, before replying reluctantly: "I would do whatever it'd take."

The angel didn't let him know how much his words hurt. He knew how Dean felt. Dean was unreasonable, hard-headed, untrusting, and had every right to be. He should have expected this answer of Dean, and yet, Castiel couldn't help but feel somewhat betrayed by Dean's harsh words.

He had done everything Dean had ever asked him. He had made sure Dean lived to fight another day time and time again. He had given up so much already, and would give up more, because despite how Dean felt, the fact that Cas knew the fate that awaited him, his brother, and everyone on the planet, and everything else in entirety, Cas believed in Dean. If Castiel had learned nothing else, he had learned what believing in someone meant, and the lengths of which one would go through - the very fires of Hell, if necessary - to fight for someone he or she believed in. He saw it every day he spent on Earth; he saw it with Dean's friends, and with how Dean looked at Sam. And, Castiel saw it in himself. Even if in the ends, it meant nothing, others were willing to move mountains, give up everything for those they believed in; others had done it for Dean, Dean would do it for Sam. And, Castiel would do it for Dean.

Why couldn't Dean see this in him? Why didn't he understand?

His stoic blue gaze concentrated ahead, his expression emotionless. "I know you would," Cas replied simply, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He knew Dean was waiting for more information, more of an explanation, and so Cas gave it to him directly. "God can't do anything anymore, because...God is gone. I think we've known it for the longest time, my brethren and me. We've always known it; we didn't want to admit it, not even among ourselves. Just like people believe in God and can't or won't accept that he isn't there, that he won't answer their prayers. They hold him close. Just like you find it impossible to not believe in your brother, and you hold him close; you can't fathom existing without him, just as many can't do the same without their faith or religion, or even with each other. I know you may not believe it yourself, Dean, but we aren't that different, you and me."

Dean had been staring in disblief at Castiel the entire time, nothing quite making sense to him, or maybe, it was that he didn't want to try to make any sense of it. He sounded as incredulous as he looked when he asked: "What do you mean 'God is gone?' You mean, like dead? He can't be - "

The angel raised a hand to cut him off, turning back toward him. "I'm not finished," he said. Dean raised his brow and looked almost surprised by the angel's audacity, but bit his tongue from saying anything in response to that. He was intrigued now to see where this was going. And worried.

Castiel paced slightly as he spoke. "Long story short - as humans say - evolution didn't create life as you now know it, nor did God. Everything you see here, and everything out there - " He glanced toward the heavens. "and even down there -" His gaze momentarily dropped, before he turned to side-glance Dean. "all 'sailed on the same ship,' as you say. It's true God molded Heaven and Earth, but who created God?"

Dean idly stroked his jaw and studied the angel with a mixture of skepticism and confusion. "People," he guessed, half-heartedly. He rewound the last part Cas had said in his mind, and mentally kicked himself for such a stupid answer. He cleared his throat and made a small gesture with a flick of his hand for the angel to continue.

"No one created God, Dean," Cas informed him, matter-of-factually.

After a long moment, Dean chuckled and wiped his eye. "I'm sorry, I'm confused as to where this is going. This sounds like a joke, but coming from you, well...that'd be a new one. Not sure what kind of punch-line there is, but - "

"This isn't a joke, Dean," the angel rebuked.

They studied one another. Dean's expression shifted back to incredulousness, but Castiel's stoic one remained unchanged.

"So...wait. Are you trying to say that we all just...popped up like daisies one day? Outer space or the aliens or whatever decided God, people, you and me, were all just some whacky idea to try out for the Hell of it?"

Castiel was becoming frustrated now at Dean's lack of seriousness, his lack of faith.

"There are no aliens..." Cas replied coolly, adding then: "But, essentially...yes."

"Uh...what? Come again?" Dean wondered. He wasn't sure what to think at this point.

"The universe is constantly changing its form, expanding, destroying and creating. Heaven, Earth, everything...is the result of this experimentation."

"Are you...wait a minute, wait...are you trying to tell me that the universe is alive?"

"In a sense, yes. It is an entity from which all other entities have been created or destroyed. We're all constantly being pulled in different directions, like snapping feet of poultry one by one. You can't feel the full effect here on Earth, because everything moves so slowly. But, over time, humans begin to feel such effects of everything shifting apart, being molded into something else, or being suffocated into nothing."

"How?" The skepticism remained in Dean's tone.

The angel's brow dipped in the middle and his eyes were filled with some expression Dean couldn't quite make out. Sadness, regret, reluctance, acceptance - he didn't know. Perhaps it was just knowledge, a kind of power Dean could never fully know or understand. He wouldn't admit it, but it scared the Hell out of him.

Cas didn't know how to explain this to Dean in terms he'd understand, so he would try to make an example. He heaved out a sigh and glanced over at Sam, still sound asleep; Dean's eyes followed.

"When your brother is scared, alone, or hurt. How does that make you feel?"

Dean shrugged sharply. "Is this really a question?"

Castiel turned back, knowing the answer, though Dean was too proud and stubborn to admit it so candidly. "You feel scared, alone, hurt. You are filled to the brim with immeasurable loss and agony."

Dean look annoyed, but he didn't deny it.

"When you are not with Sam, you feel lost, torn apart. This...pain, this emptiness and longing to have Sam and be whole again...it's not literally you, or God, or Lucifer who makes you feel this pain."

"It's...aftershocks of the universe at work? Cas, come on. This is bullshit, you have to know that."

The angel waved a hand again to still him at his words. "Some day, the universe will grab hold of this planet, as it will others, and every moon and star and sun and galaxy and Heaven and Hell, and it will - " His words trailed off. He raised a balled fist, then opened it with fingers spread wide to attempt to illustrate his point. It would all cease to exist.

Dean stared, silently understanding to some small extent, but didn't want to. He didn't want to consider any of this, and with good reason in his mind. He gestured with a finger for Cas to hold on, and went to pull out every bottle of alcohol from the cupboards he owned. He tossed his head back, taking a long swig of whiskey straight up, then jut a finger at the angel. "This is crazy. Too crazy. Even for me. And, I am crazy. Crazy is my life," he managed in between swallowing. "Forget 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.' The cuckoo has flown. He's gone, way gone over that nest, and out of here."

Castiel frowned in confusion, not understanding the reference. The implication of what the hunter meant, however, was still there, and one he thought he grasped well enough. He shook his head and pressed on.

"I know it's not easy to understand." Human's capacity for knowledge and comprehension was limited, and for that much, Cas tried to be patient with Dean. "I shouldn't have told you any of this." And that was the truth. It wasn't because he didn't want to, but because he had anticipated this reaction. It was too much for any human to know or comprehend, even Dean.

Dean was still floored by this revelation, his mouth dry as bones in the desert sun. He couldn't find his voice at first.

"So...God is gone. Because it's what the universe wanted."

Cas said nothing, allowing Dean try to reach his own conclusions.

"And...we're all sitting pretty like ducks all in a row, just waiting..." Dean went on, trying to wrap his head around it all. "And, all this - the angels, the demons, the war - it's what, pointless? We're just amusement to pass the time, like gladiators to the emperor?"

"Yes, and no," Castiel replied. "Everyone and everything in the universe may be influenced by higher power beyond comprehension or control, may be pushed and pulled, twisted and broken beyond repair or limit..." Castiel swallowed roughly, raising a stern gaze to Dean, that began to slowly soften. Dean thought he saw regret, sadness, for the first time in those blue eyes. "But, we all create our own Heavens and Hells, Dean. We always have."

Dean gaped for a few moments, unable to speak. Once again, he was completely floored. And then, like a light switch flipped from off to on, Dean became angry. He grit his teeth, the columns in his neck tensing, knuckles turning white as he gripped the counter behind him. He glanced at Sam. It took everything in his power to not lash out, because even now, his concern was not to disturb his brother, to protect him.

"Are you telling me..." Dean snarled, shaking his head in disdain. "Please don't tell me we did this, Cas." His voice was thick with emotion, his tone fluctuating between anger and despair. "We were bored? We made sport of ourselves? Don't you tell me that if everyone had just stayed on their own goddamn side of the fence, that we all could've lived out the rest of our days as blissfully ignorant fools. Don't you dare tell me that this has all been for nothing!"

Before he could stop himself, Dean slammed his whiskey bottle into the sink and gripped it tightly. His entire body seemed to coil into himself as he braced himself over the sink; his legs felt weak beneath him. Every emotion he had ever felt in his entire life seemed to be having a battle to the death inside his head, and the tension rolled off him in nearly tangible waves. Sam was awake now, having been startled from slumber by the racket. He called to Dean and asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," Dean lied, trying to get ahold of himself. He side-glanced where Cas had been standing to see the angel had disappeared. Thinking he had left, now of all times, only served to further infuriate Dean, but he held it back - alone with the bile rising in his throat - for Sam's sake, and his own. "Nothing. Knocked the bottle into the sink and cut my hand is all. It's not bad; I'll be fine." He controlled his emotions and sniffed, wiping the back of his hand over his face, before sparing a glance back at his brother. "Really. Go back to sleep, Sammy. Long day ahead tomorrow."

Sam didn't seem entirely convinced, but exhaustion was written all over his face, and so reluctantly, his head found his pillow once more. Soon, he was fast asleep. Dean turned back to his mess, and angrily began to clean it up.

"Cas...you got about five seconds to get your feathery ass back here. Do you hear me?"

Before he knew it, Dean was in a completely different place - an empty parking lot outside by the looks of it. He turned around in a circle, confused and half-paranoid, momentarily forgetting his anger.

"It wasn't for nothing."

Dean whirled around, and his hazel eyes landed on Castiel standing not far away. Obviously, this was Cas's handy work, as per usual. The anger returned, but was manageable for now. He knew why Cas had brought them out there. There were enough questions already that neither of them needed Sam to be brought into the mix, not now.

"What?" Dean snapped. He had heard Cas, but he didn't understand him, yet again. Cas seemed prepared to elaborate. His eyes were soft and filled with deep meaning, solely focused on Dean.

"I have spent an eternity believing in only one thing - the one thing that I knew - just as you have spent your life believing in what you know. But, even when you don't see it, or acknowledge it, you know you have learned some new things. You learned these things and came to believe them before all this moment, and you continue to believe in them, even now."

As Castiel spoke, Dean inexplicably could hear his words in the form of thoughts - in images - replaying over and over in his head like an old movie. Images of his family, friends, the good times and the bad, everything. Castiel, too - even more so than Sam.

"These things, these experiences, and memories...they're all yours. You created them. They can't be bought, sold, or traded. They can't be broken or stolen. They're yours, and they make you who you are. Even if you die..." His voice faltered, but he regained his bearings quickly. "you'll take these things with you. Your friends, your brother - every hardship, every sorrow, but also every triumph, every joy - and you could deny it all you wanted to, but..."

Now, Dean's mind raced with different images, thoughts and feelings, and he knew all at once that they were Castiel's. It nearly threw him back, for as much force as it packed, and he dropped to one knee, soaking it all in. The most vivid and important images outweighed everything else, and were the only things that kept Dean grounded through it all. It was Sam. And Bobby. And Ellen and Jo. It was all of them, every second they had spent together, tied together with strings. And then, it was him. The reel played in his head of every moment Dean had spent with Castiel, somehow raised and pushed to the forefront of everything, to illustrate how Castiel held these moments in highest regard above all else. It was like looking into his heart, had he one.

Dean couldn't shake the tightness in his chest, as if the universe itself was sitting on him. He lost his breath, every thought or sight or sound or feeling around him other than Castiel and his words, this moment. He struggled to raise his gaze. Castiel was smiling a knowing smile, his eyes filled with as much sadness and pain as Dean's, but there was also something more. Pride - he seemed proud, but not of himself. There was something more still, and it was something Dean hadn't recognized until now: it was love. Castiel recognized that Dean finally understood.

"we both know you wouldn't change a thing. You wouldn't trade any of it for the world. And, for that reason...it was never for nothing for you," Castiel continued, his brow raising emphatically. "Nor me."

Dean began to break down. Castiel was beside him then.

"Why...all this? Why now?" Dean managed in a hoarse whisper. He was beside himself as he absentmindedly clutched the angel's beige trench coat.

"I had to show you," Castiel replied simply. Even without further elaboration, Dean nodded slightly in silent understanding. The only way for Dean to see, to understand - the only way for him to believe - was for Castiel to tell him everything, to show him - to make Dean believe in himself, and in Castiel, and most importantly, to make him know that he wasn't alone. He never was, and somehow, he knew he never would be. Dean felt proud. He felt relieved. He felt honored to have been chosen - not by any God or Devil or mission of destiny - but by his best friend, of whom he loved.

Dean wept. He wept until near dawn. Castiel spoke not a word during this time. He stayed with Dean, and that was enough. It was enough.

At some point, Dean sat back, shoulders hunched, coughing once and wiping his face; he stared down. Castiel was kneeled beside him still, face tilted toward the sunny skies. Dean raised his head to speak, but found himself entranced at the sight. Castiel seemed to be smiling without doing so, the light reflected in his eyes. Dean couldn't say he was happy, but he seemed...accepting, at peace. No foul judgment could hinder his eternal reverence. In spite of himself, Dean found it beautiful - and envious.

Dean coughed to himself and looked away, sniffing as he sat on his haunches, smoothing palms over his thighs.

After a moment, he asked: "So, what's gonna happen? What can we do?"

The angel took a long breath. "Hunting things, saving people...the family business," he responded, as if it was the simplest and most natural answer in the world.

Dean was momentarily dumbfounded to hear his own words come back to him. However, as always, Dean knew better than to expect anything other than the unexpected. His expression remained, regardless, as Castiel turned back to him.

"We all create our own Heavens and Hells, Dean," the angel reiterated. Cas's eyes flickered toward the motel. "Sam is waiting for you."

His gaze remained on Dean as the hunter looked away toward Sam emerging from the motel inn. Dean snorted quietly with a smile as he watched his brother yawn and stretch awkwardly, removing kinks from his back. Cas smiled to himself in knowing Dean understood now completely.

"Hey, Cas, I - " Dean began, turning back to the angel. But, Castiel had gone. He chuckled lightly and shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. "Son-of-a-bitch," he muttered, climbing to his feet.

From afar, Sam noticed him in the parking lot and shouted to him. "Hey, Dean! What are you doing? Bobby's been calling every ten minutes."

Dean spared a glance in his brother's direction as he straightened himself out. "Quit nagging, Nancy. I was just gonna stop for donuts." He popped the collar on his leather jacket. "Oh, yeah? What's the old man got to say this time?"

Before Sam could respond, Dean's cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he picked it up. It was none other than Bobby Singer himself. Right on cue, he thought to himself.

"Go for Dean," he joked.

"Go for my foot up your ass," Bobby replied sardonically without preamble. "If it pleases your majesties, I got that lead you were asking about. It's in Plymouth. I'm about three hours out; I'll meet ya there."

"I think we can manage that," Dean replied.

"You better," Bobby told him. "And, pick up your damned phones once in awhile. I ain't getting any younger here, boy."

"Don't worry, Bobby, me and Sam will make sure you get to the prom on time," Dean said with a wry shake of his head.

A pause.

"Ya idjits," Bobby said, and promptly hung up.

Dean flipped his phone shut and put it away. In the distance, Sam was packing up the Impala. He looked up as Dean approached. He noted Dean's mood and thought there was something different about him, but didn't say anything. Dean noticed his odd look and shot him a glance. He didn't know what to say, so he let out the first thing that came to mind.

"Bitch," Dean coughed.

Sam cracked a smile in spite of himself. "Jerk," he replied curtly, climbing into the passenger's seat of the car.

Dean shook his head, grinning. He stopped at the driver's side and paused, taking a moment to glance toward the sky; he squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rising sun. A fading star above seemed to wink, and Dean knew it was for him. He let out a sigh, smiling. "Thanks, Cas," he said.

Another sigh, Dean slapped a hand to the roof of the Impala and climbed in. Almost instantly, the brothers began to argue over the radio, and a steady debate over who the greatest rock n' roll musician of all time was ensued, as the Impala rolled out of the parking lot and toward the open road.


End file.
